Reflections of a Time Lord
by HelenaHermione
Summary: From the Doctor's POV, Ten copes with his despair and find new hope and fortitude in his adventures. Delves into past history, slightly skewered narrative in original 'Stand' and new chapters post Doomsday and 3rd Series. Currently up to Daleks 2part
1. Stand: Prologue

Here is the first chapter of **'Echoes: Reflections of a Time Lord'**, which will be a series of vignettes related to characteristics of the Doctor. This one is influenced by 'Doomsday', yes, but delves a little into past history as well. Feel free to remark on whether or not this is true to the Doctor, as this is my first fanfic for the character and I haven't really written much in the abstract sense before.

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the Doctor or 'Doctor Who', it is a property of the BBC.****  
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**Stand **

"Rose Tyler-"

And then he faded away.

_The Doctor's words caught in his throat as he felt the loss of the connection and as he felt the solar energy fizzle…the supernova was over. The TARDIS was floating in the darkness of space once more, the only light coming from other distant suns and stars billions of light years away_.

_He stood for a moment, in spite of himself, stunned that he had wasted time like that…he almost considered trying to find another fading star and accelerating it into supernova, but he couldn't do that, not quite right. No, one shot was all he could take advantage of and he had blown it…that was the show, that was the last big bang, and he had accidentally left before the final curtain call._

The Doctor stood…the incandescence of the walls flickered slightly, the time rotor's pumping paused and throbbed, but then everything settled down as usual…that was as far as the TARDIS would acknowledge the loss of Rose. The Doctor lowered his head slightly, staring at the metal grate floor…it would bruise his knees, if his legs collapsed. The palms of his hands would be scratched by the grooves as he caught himself in the fall and then his knuckles would be crushed as he pounded his fists again and again at that floor in his fit.

The Doctor stood.

_Wherever he went, across time and space, he held his own ground when it came to his own determination, if he chose a side in a fight or in a debate, that was where he stood unless there was a fault. Usually, there was no fault, no way to persuade him to bend and give way on his own opinion. Of course, he wasn't always perfect when it came to his decisions, but he didn't waver in what he had done and he sometimes even faced the consequences. He stood, in the midst of a crowd of cheering people; he stood, in the face of a council of Time Lords, sentencing him to exile…either way, shame or glory, he left._

_Still, should there ever be a peaceful moment, either by himself or…or with a companion, he or they might stand still and look around at where they had ended up…it might be crowded, it might be secluded around them. The view might be majestic, it might be crude; it might be advanced, it might be simple; it might be an artificial sight, or it might be a natural landscape, but whatever it was, they would take a moment to stand still and gaze._

Time…passing, all of these years and centuries and eons, around and through him to become the Doctor, the moments and the hours and the days, where did winter go when it was spring, from day to night in an instant, how could he live when so many lives faded? Susan, Katrina, Jamie, Sarah Jane Smith, Harry Sullivan, the Brigadier, Romana, Adric, Ace and so many more…like so many plastic bags, being blown past him by the wind as he stood on a street corner. The Doctor lifted his head now and gasped, feeling how empty it was, how meaningless were all of these losses, now with cherished Rose amongst them…all of these partings, often so jarringly abrupt like this one, with so much pain and so much left unsaid.

The Doctor felt tears welling…and stood.

_He had stood at precipices many times before, literally and metaphorically, though whether or not it was of his own doing depended…sometimes he stepped away from the edge, perfectly balanced, without a thought, but many times he wavered. In those instances, he sometimes did fall, usually because he was pushed, either by force or influence, though once he did fall willfully to see what laid in the Nothingness beneath him. Sometimes he came out unharmed, sometimes there were wounds, though once he did fall…pain and a coldness creeping into him, his vision fading as, before darkness, he saw the faces of his companions and his own face after death…his fourth regeneration. _

_Other times, he was sure of himself, though he sometimes did have dreams, a bit rarely, nightmares really…he was dressed as a clown, bit of grease makeup, holding an umbrella on one hand as he tried to stand still on a tightrope. Impossible, of course, he had to walk to keep his balance, but he couldn't decide whether to walk forwards or backwards and he had to stop and think…a folly of a Time Lord, perhaps, or just the strange circumstances of dreams. Meanwhile, there were people laughing at him, others were quietly talking about shaking the tightrope to see what would happen, it angered him, of course, but that just made it harder to keep his self-control. He and everyone else was stuck in madness, a fall was inevitable for him and they couldn't understand that he was more than a clown, more than something to laugh at or abuse, not just for the sake of his importance as a Time Lord, he was a living being._

The Doctor slowly nodded, thinking about it, just like any other in existence when it came down to fundamentals…though, otherwise, things got complicated when it came to his advancement, technologically and physically, his knowledge of so many mysteries and of the odd little trivialities like Earth songs. In any case, he still retained some instincts, involving some needs and wants that had to be addressed, they couldn't be denied, that would be monstrous to his well-being…of living.

The Doctor trembled as he stood.

_It got hard for him, at times…he had told Rose, not too long ago, that you needed 'a hand to hold' and it certainly was true…first time he went out on the TARDIS, he already knew that it would be hard to travel without some companionship. Naturally, he had brought along Susan because they needed each other, but though he had known it would be dangerous, he hadn't fully comprehended how it would affect him, how even his own stance would come close to collapsing. How, years later, he would sag against the doors of his TARDIS, leaning against it for support as he heard the harsh yells of Daleks, one against so many in the end. How, not too long ago, he hadn't been able to give Rose a hand to hold and she was nearly sucked into the Void…he was relieved that she had been caught before, no words could express the gratitude of that. Yet she was still gone and when he approached that blank wall, he had to lean against it to steady himself…he felt something, briefly, a presence…but the void between the worlds was strong and after that, there was just a feeling of absence._

Absence…in the end, the Doctor had to rely on himself to remain steady for now, for however long it would take for him to cope, and that was all he could do when he had so much to do. The TARDIS was waiting to be taken to its next destination and Time…passing, all of these years and centuries and eons, around and through him to become the Doctor.

And the Doctor stood.

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**To be continued...**


	2. To Move On: Chapter 1

**In response to the approaching 3rd Series, I have decided to revisit and revise my Doctor Who fan-fiction, notably by changing its premise and extending it out into a full-fledged adventure.****  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, it is a property of the BBC.  
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**To Move On**

The Doctor stepped back into the TARDIS, shaking his head…he didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or to cry, these last few hours with Donna had been…well, what's a good word for annoying? No, it hadn't always been like that, she really had been nice sometimes and, yes, she had been taken advantage of, there was no doubt about that and he couldn't fault her for all of her…faults. All in all, he knew that he would remember it, even if he didn't want to, and he decided that he might as well give her one last thrill.

He stepped up to the console and flipped some switches, banging here and there while the TARDIS gave a wheeze…the old ship really wasn't up to the task of giving such a dramatic take-off, not after all it had just been through, but the Doctor insisted on the spectacle for the sake of putting a good face on, for the sake that he might as well start off the next phase of his existence, Rose-less, with a bang. When the TARDIS shot up into the sky, the Doctor strapped into the cushioned seat, the entire ship shook as sparks flew from the console and the alarm buzzed, the screen flickering with the standard Gallifreyian warning popped up on it before it faded. For a moment, the interior lights completely turned off as the Doctor sat in the darkness, breathing heavily as he half-expected to feel the vacuum of space soon…but power returned to normal and he sighed, the TARDIS had survived its blast-off into space.

He undid the straps and stood up, walking back to the console as he examined the instruments, calling up diagnostics on his screen to double-check, tapping on the time rotor to triple-check, then he bent down and pulled up the grating hatch as he slipped into the sub-floor level, slithering amongst the wiring as he quadruple-checked…no use. The Doctor groaned and managed to climb back out of the grating hatch, wincing to himself at the strain, before he leaned against the console and tried to decide what to do. On the one hand, he could just keep going and try to ignore it…on the other, he could just keep going with the TARDIS drifting while he slipped away into the workshop and finagle a replacement while in-flight…or he could just land somewhere immediately and work on the repair. However, the problem about stopping was that he wasn't exactly sure that he could jump-start the TARDIS into working order afterwards…even though his ship could ride the sonic and the slipstreams of time and space, it was still a phone box in physical form, not a rocket.

Another problem caused by Donna…inadvertently, of course. It had been his own stupid choice to do this again…the same with draining the Thames River…he shuddered now as he realized how he had watched the Empress screaming in pain inside the chamber, how he had almost been pleased by it, perhaps Donna was right about him needing…someone. Well, it made no difference now in his current circumstance, not when he had to fix the TARDIS, and so he decided that, rather than risk implosion or accidentally colliding into a planet, he might as well stop off somewhere. The Doctor jerked a lever and the TARDIS slowed in its flight as he tried to pinpoint a planet…yes, that looked promising, not a lot of activity, obviously an undeveloped planet and so as a good a place as any to lay low. As he pushed a button, instantly materializing the TARDIS in the middle of a jungle on the planet, he turned away from the console and strode out of the main control room, walking down the narrow corridor of his vessel before he stepped into another room, the lights flashing on in here to reveal a pile of odds and ends. Here, the Doctor stored the old components of his TARDIS that had either failed or hadn't suited him after the course of a regeneration, here he unloaded the technology that he had found during his travels, here he had created and, ultimately, dismantled some of his inventions, here he had manuals and tools, including several failed attempts at a sonic screwdriver and the mess that was supposed to have been a sonic telescope…if he dug around, maybe he would find a robot or two.

He paused to consider the merits of a robot, but decided against it right now, it was a poor substitute and he wasn't desperate…not just yet. He grabbed a manual and flipped through some of the pages, reading and puzzling over the instructions until he realized that it was the manual that had originally come with the holographic food mixer that he had once bought on the planet of Mastowark. He tossed that aside and glanced around, trying to find…he smiled and swept aside some of the junk, then pulled forward the now clear bench as he sat down, pulling his glasses out of his pocket as he proceeded to snatch up some tools and spare parts.

Time passed by as he worked, adjusting a few screws and occasionally rerouting some cables, trying not to think too much about the silence and the stillness…he had been trapped, many times before, with nothing to do. He had been locked away, tortured as well, a few times he had been threatened with beheadings, burning at the stake, and the universally infamous Wazkartcha gorge slice. Yet he had managed well enough on those occasions, he even smiled now as he thought that it was quite likely that he might have experienced more close-calls than Captain Jack Harkness had…personally, the worst imprisonments for him had always been mental, not physical. Yes, the Doctor reflected, the fear of losing his sanity on those occasions had been all too real for him…still, he had survived those trials adequately enough, though with some embarrassment, and escaped without any severe damage to his self.

However, he knew that his luck couldn't last forever and he had a feeling that these next few days and months certainly wouldn't be easy, it was crucial for him to readapt to life on his own after having lost so much…suddenly, there was a distant crash and the TARDIS rumbled. The Doctor nearly dropped the piece that he had been working on as he leapt to his feet, but he caught it and gripped it tightly as he raced out of his workroom and down the corridor, stepping into the main control once more. He laid the replacement piece onto one of the cushions, he would work on that once he discovered what was happening, and tried to figure out where the crash had come from…there was another rumble, this time he realized that it was coming from outside of the TARDIS. The Doctor inhaled deeply and strode down the ramp, pushing open the door.

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**Author's note: Originally, this fanfiction wasn't supposed to have much of a plot, just a few reflective scenes, but I have decided to progress onward from my first scene and create a new adventure, taking place right after _Doomsday_ yet with some references to his past adventures. I will post more in a few days, but I will tell you right now that-though there isn't much more of a plot than there was before-I intend to have the Doctor hop around through time and space up to the point where he ends up in the hospital of Martha Jones. Please review, I wish to know if there is some interest here, or if this angle has been done too much already.  
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	3. To Move On: Falconer

This is actually more of a continuation of **To Move On**, but it has a brief appearance of a new character that the Doctor nicknames 'Falconer', as you'll soon find out why. Please read and review.**  
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**Falconer**

The TARDIS light panels were dimmed, with the Doctor's absence, there was only a faint buzz in the air with the systems still functioning, but reserving energy…now and again there was a faint ticking, pinging, it would have been grating to the Doctor's ears if he had been there to hear it. Several small blue tubers flashed suddenly and the panels brightened in expectance…there was a delay of a few minutes, but then the door opened and the Doctor staggered in, gasping. He was not a cat person, not at all, especially if they appeared to be as tall as the Tower…these last few hours had been a cat-astrophe, and not just for himself alone.

The Doctor turned and yelled, "Come on! Are you coming in or not, bird brain? We've got to move on out of here!"

He stepped back, allowing the Warrior to enter inside the TARDIS, his sharp eyes already swooping about as he took in the scope of the interior, but he made no comment. He strode up the ramp, his staff slamming into the grating with every step he took, as the Doctor quickly closed the door, not a moment too soon. The TARDIS trembled and he could just imagine why, imagine that monstrous cat crouched beside the blue box, swatting at it with a paw that had the force of at least a ton behind it, it would be amazing if the façade didn't actually acquire a few great gashes in it. The Doctor raced past the Warrior, adjusting a few of the levers on the console as he scrambled round its length, checking to see if everything was ready-quickly grabbed the replacement piece and reinstalled it-and then twirled the handle of the miniature rotary as the time rotor fluctuated. On the jungle planet, the TARDIS dissolved, leaving behind a giant annoyed cat, and slipped into a time stream as the Doctor relaxed and turned to study his fellow traveler…loath to call him a companion just yet.

The Warrior had taken a stance at the rail, leaning his staff against it as he folded his wings behind him and tapped his talons as he completely glanced around at the TARDIS…he was a slim, yet undoubtedly feathery being clothed in plain khaki, offsetting his gray tint with white streaks. His head was that of a raptor's with a short yet extremely sharp beak with equally piercing yellow eyes, hardly ever blinking and never displaying any hint of emotion beyond his blank, predatory stare; in the last few hours, he had only exchanged a few words with the Doctor.

The Doctor queried, "What do they call you?"

The Warrior-bird turned his head and responded, "Since breaking out of my egg, I have been called Farahorlimuscon."

"Right, then…I'll call you Falconer. How does that sound?"

Falconer only gave the briefest shrug and was silent for a moment while the Doctor checked their heading, but then he suddenly said, "We are traveling…I can feel it. Very fast, faster than I have ever moved…we are going further away from my old roost."

The Doctor slowly nodded and hesitated before he lifted his head as he murmured, "I am sorry, Falconer, about what happened back there. I thought for sure that our distraction would work, but that cat wasn't fooled and…were there any other exits?"

"No, Doctor, the cat had the advantage of us. If any had been spared, they were not of my nest…that was too close to the mouth of the recess."

The Doctor lowered his eyes and turned away, turning a switch as the TARDIS started to slow, slipping out of the time stream and materializing in the regular dimension. He brought up the monitor, which presented the view of a lush garden…and the brutal faces of its occupants, which were even now approaching the blue box. The Doctor squinted and tilted his head…what was it today with upright animals? These figures were mammalian, but they walked on paws and their bulging muscles were covered with lean, black fur offset by their raiment of white linen kilts. Their heads were that of a jackal's, long snouts bared to exposed razor fangs with beady red eyes and ridiculously long ears, but there was no denying their savage glare; currently, those Conqueror-jackals that weren't approaching the blue box were whipping human slaves into dismantling a pharaohnic statue.

Suddenly, behind him, the Doctor heard a screech before Falconer harshly asked, "What is this? Is this happening out there?"

The Doctor nodded and turned to face the Warrior-bird, who was gripping his staff tightly, as he answered, "Yes, right outside…this is a place called Egypt, I hadn't meant to come here, but here we are and…they need our help."

"Are they of your nest?"

"Uh…no, not really, though I have found myself brooding over them for quite awhile now, if I do say so myself, but that's not the point. The point is that they need help, they cannot stand up for themselves and I don't think there's anybody else, we're the only ones. Still, if it's too soon after…what happened back there, we can move on, if you don't want to get involved."

Falconer cocked his head, thinking for a moment, but then he shook his head and said, "I must be involved in something, perhaps the sooner the better. If I can stop injustice in this place, wherever it is, maybe then I can right what went wrong at my own roost. We will stay and help."

The Doctor smiled and said, "All right then…you want to go first?"

Falconer nodded and there was a glint in his eye as he hefted his staff and strode down the ramp, his talons clacking on the grating as he reached the doors and managed to open them. The sun shone through the opening, a glare in which the Doctor could barely see anything except Falconer's shadow as he twirled his staff and slammed it into the first Conqueror-jackal, knocking him down, before shoving it into another's gut as the Warrior-bird screeched out his battle cry.

Beyond, however, he faintly heard human voices shout, "Horus!"

The Doctor sighed and leaned against the rail, patiently waiting for Falconer to finish off this group of opponents…he had a feeling that this would be a long stopover and if he was able to survive long enough to leave, he would likely be alone again. Falconer certainly should prove popular in this situation, maybe to the extent that he might decide to stay on as 'Horus', which wasn't really a bad thing, considering that there had been worse humans who had served as pharaohs in this ancient civilization. Still, as the Doctor took off his coat, he couldn't help thinking that there was never anything he could depend on, nothing could last when he was always moving on, especially when it came to his companions. However, he managed to banish these dark thoughts easily enough when he hung his coat on the rack and stepped out into the sun-drenched landscape of ancient Egypt…at least he knew who he was and that, somewhere in time and space, there would always be a new adventure.


	4. Creation: Chapter 2

I've finally come up with a structure to _Reflections_, this will be the start of the 2nd part of what will be 6 sections. Basically, there will be an experimental introduction to each section and then about two story halves-'Stand' and then both parts of 'To Move On' have both made up the first section. Eventually, I will relate the standard behind the structure, but right now here is **Creation**-slightly experimental with apologies to the artists whose lyrics I used, and open to comments about what probably should have been included.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who or the songs represented here. (The 'Kookaburra' song actually does belong to someone else, the rights have not expired for the original 'purchase').

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**Creation**

_Kookaburra sits on a rusty nail  
Gets a boo-boo in his tail  
Cry, Kookaburra! Cry, kookaburra!  
Oh how life can be!_

The last stanza…the Doctor knew that, sometimes, humans just found it hard to remember all of the words in a song, that they would sing a chorus over and over again, "_Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry_", never really going to the trouble to memorize the rest of the song. Personally, he always found himself able to remember everything if he put his mind to it, though he hardly ever did try intentionally, sometimes things just slipped out when necessary…at least _The Lion King _helped to make his point, just a bit.

'_Hello darkness, my old friend,/Ive come to talk with you again,' _To _The Sounds of _Silence, of course…the TARDIS had enough of that these days.

_Dream, when youre feeling blue/Dream, thats the thing to do/Just watch the smoke rings rise in the air/Youll find your share of memories there'_ Perhaps you can say that, 'Old Blue Eyes', but stars and planets fade in those smoke rings of the universe.

'_I can't believe it's happened to me./I can't conceive of any more misery./_ _Ask me why, i'll say i love you,/And i'm always thinking of you.' _ Perhaps there was nothing else to say, O Muse, O Beatles, nothing else to say at all.

The Doctor heard enough music and saw enough artwork and read enough literature wherever he went across the universe, those on Landooma had made a statement by rerouting their beds of lava into intricate patterns, Palaporortians used spare tentacles as flutes, even Gallifrey once had its share of writers…a bit technical, a bit overwhelming, but it was an art-form. Nearly every planet had one art-form or another, but for some reason, he found himself attracted to the masterpieces, and even to the amateurish art, of the Earth…maybe because most of it seemed pretty straightforward, yet still so meaningful to him. Of course, since he liked to experience the self-expression of those apes, then the cosmos thus deemed that he was usually too busy dealing with _their _messes so that he sometimes never could take the time to sit down and listen to an opera in 1890, or meet with Dante Aligeheri on some roadside in the Italian wilderness of his wanderings. Oh, time…to stretch out the days, would he then be able to take more pleasure out of what few pastimes he could encounter?

Would he have been able to have more chances with Rose? No, the Doctor knew that such wishful thinking would do him no good, he could not dwell in the past when he could not meddle with it…damn Reapers. Well, whatever else, he had always heard that humans sometimes used their artistic abilities to convey their pain or joy, or whatever else was going on inside their heads…a bit brilliant, really, that was what made them different from other animals, the ability to project their thoughts toward the future…and toward the past as well. Never mind, it wasn't as if he was a painter or a musician…he was talented with Gallifreyan writing, of course, but that wouldn't suit anything that he could imagine creating to…memorialize Rose. The Doctor knew that he could sing and dance, though Rose had once said that the former would have made Daleks howl, but both seemed too sporadic and didn't have the same impact as creating something himself. He might as well forget about such scheme…try to go on as if nothing had happened.

'_Smiling faces I can see/But not for me/I sit and watch/As tears go by'_ So does time, thought the Doctor, Rolling Stones and time.

'_I try and mend the broken pieces/I try to fight back the tears_' as The Doctor worked on the TARDIS, he kept repeating those Queen lyrics, turning a knob and cranking back a lever.

'_Try to kill it all away /But I remember everything_' The Doctor slammed his mallet against the console of the TARDIS, telling himself that nothing was wrong, as Johnny Cash kept singing in his mind.

The Doctor shook his head, Rose was still alive, still out there somewhere, maybe he could find another supernova, another fading star, and use whatever power was left to contact her…but there was no use, trying to deny and trying to think up reasons for doing what should not be done. He was just getting himself stuck in some unreality, spiraling through space in a dark maze, if he denied what he was going through, the TARDIS might as well just split apart right now…not the first time that had happened. Embarrassing, Jamie had turned into a cardboard cutout, but at least the Doctor had realized that to rearrange a _sword _makes _words_.

The Doctor thought for a moment and decided to really play some music, a concert piece, to sit and listen and _think _about what he should do next…he should not wander so willy-nilly, he might as well settle on a specific date and a specific location and see what would happen there. With that, the Doctor snapped his fingers and Mozart's _Flute Concerto No. 1_ in G major, K 313 began to play as he walked over to the cushioned seat and sat down, listening to the orchestral strings and, most importantly, the flute, whose solos trilled and yet lingered, sharp and sweet notes echoing through the TARDIS. After another few moments, the Doctor suddenly stood up and began working with the controls of the console, the time rotor now vibrating as the music continued to play and he started to wave his fingers, humming softly to himself.

'_twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood/When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud/I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form./Come in, she said,/Ill give you shelter from the storm._' The Doctor knew that he would never forget Rose, Dylan was wiser than he seemed.

'_I hear the sound of the ticking of clocks/Come back and look for me/Look for me when I am lost/And just a whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper_' He wished that he could go find her, that she would find him, that he could get Coldplay out of his mind.

'_There he goes, there he goes/Where he stops, no one knows_'…The Doctor stared up at the time rotor of the TARDIS, wondering what Jimi Hendrix would have thought about all of this, as he went on…though the Doctor could not create, he could dream and build upon that and help others see their dream as well.

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**To be continued. Please read and review, the next part will probably be called _Heart Music: Wolfie_**


	5. Storms of Heart and Mind

**Author's Note: **Sorry that it's been so long since I've last posted with this fan-fic, but I've been keeping up with another fan-fic I was doing, then there was the new series, and then school and such...but I'm ready to move on. I've given up my previous ideas, yes, now I think I'll do more of an overview going into the third series, this new chapter will deal heavily with **Smith and Jones** and the period just before he winds up at the Royal Hope Hospital. I'm going to remain true to the Doctor's viewpoint, though, especially in those key moments for him to consider how he feels about Martha Jones...it is a bit angsty at the middle, yes, but that was a pretty dramatic episode for him, nearly getting killed. Anyway, I think I'll have a little more fun with **The Shakespeare Code **and **Gridlock**, with sonnets and cars and all of that...please read and review!

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**Storms of the Heart and Mind**

The Doctor hummed to himself as he stood at the controls, smiling at the thought of the concert that he had attended not too long ago, without any delay as the TARDIS had taken him directly to the right time period and location…sometimes it gave him a break. He had wandered round the place at first, trying to find a suitable entrance, then had to make his way through the crowd, trying not to be too conspicuous even as he sought the best place to fully enjoy this experience. Luckily, the people around the Doctor had been too concerned with their own affairs to notice much of his presence or appearance, he had not wanted to have to explain Converses to them, and then the star performer had appeared, fully distracting everyone as they politely clapped.

The musician had bowed his head, smiling towards the honored audience members, and then he had carefully settled himself upon his bench as he had been taught, even though his feet were barely long enough to reach the floor. The Doctor had relaxed in that grand hall, listening to the young yet talented Wolfgang, also to be known as 'Amadeus' in Italy, Mozart play the pinafore for these admiring courtiers and for royalty. Afterwards, the Doctor had stepped outside the palace and had lifted his head, it was early evening and the stars were out, and the moon, and he could smell the royal gardens with their flowers, so fragile and yet so beautiful…he forgot about the music.

He had to get away from here, from Earth, throughout all of time.

He had quickly left, running past startled courtiers as he slipped into another room, excusing himself to a secluded couple, and stepped into his TARDIS, then dematerialized without worrying about anyone seeing him. The Doctor had continued on his way, traipsing through the purple fields of Litalayo with a dogged determination before he returned to his ship, jammed the controls, and wound up on the icy moon of Thaman, helping a space crew there deal with some monster, not that it had really mattered to him at that point. Again and again he set new coordinates, again and again he had stepped out, looked around, and then just as quickly returned back to the TARDIS, for he could not linger long anywhere, he could not stop to take a breath and look up at the stars, or the sky, he would not allow himself to feel sunlight or notice when it was raining.

Once more, the Doctor pulled back on the lever and the time rotor pulsated as the TARDIS hurtled through space again, he gripped onto the control panel and held on tightly, glancing up once or twice at the screens for something, any sign of anything interesting out there in the universe, any problem or any strange irregularity that he might be able to investigate. He was aimless, for he had gone to so many planets throughout so many eons in just the passage of a few weeks for him, on a whim or on a decision, that now he could not think of what to do next.

The Doctor recalled that once he had told another young girl, when she was leaving, to think of him when she was living her days in a neat pattern, to _think about the homeless traveler in his old police, his days like crazy paving_. No, there was no pattern for him in these days, not when time was so slow and when it always seemed that he either wasted time or was too busy with something else, not when he dreaded his past and was uncertain about his future.

Yet now…there was a blip on the screen, the indication of a strange reading for this part of the universe, he brought up the details on the detection of…_plasma _coils, those were quite advanced, and apparently they were somewhere on…the Doctor sighed. Earth. Eastern hemisphere. Northern Europe. Britain. London. His head leaned forward and he groaned, but then after a moment, he lifted his head again, staring up at the column glowing before him.

"Well, I don't know what to say…I didn't want to go back, you know that, right? Of course you do, I've been talking to you so much in the silence during these trips between destinations that…this probably doesn't mean anything. Those plasma coils, maybe they're not important enough to warrant my attention, did you ever think about that? Perhaps I'll just turn the knob, without looking, set a course for someplace I don't even know and just leave the Earth behind me."

The lights dimmed and then flashed and flared, glaring in the brightness that now uncovered all of the corners, there were no more shadows for the Doctor now as he grimaced, squinting and turning his head away. He listened to the pulse of his TARDIS, listened to the throbbing of its instrumentation, and ached as he realized that it hurt as much as he did, not much of a surprise when he had taken out his pain on it with all of this constant traveling. Still, it wanted him to go back to Earth, go back to Britain and London, back to old haunts and old storms of the heart and mind, to analyze the anonymous anomaly and perhaps stop another threat to the universe…and what better place for such threats than the natural stomping grounds of those humans, good old Earth?

The Doctor shook his head, knowing that his thoughts were just too bitter, not all humans were bad, not when there were some like Mozart, Dickens, Sarah Jane Smith, Jamie, Leonardo da Vinci, and Rose…he blinked and turned back to face the glowing column.

"I'll go back, I'll return to my work, but what I wish is that I might know that…it would make a difference, that someone would be affected, would remember me. That would be my peace for now, I suppose I can expect little more."

The Doctor said nothing else to his TARDIS as it set off and then, when it had landed, he changed his clothes, thinking that what he needed was something different, a different color for a new perspective, perhaps some sort of a fresh start…this was Earth, yes, but an Earth without Rose. He stepped outside and glanced around, then turned to gaze up at the façade of the tall building before him…he finally spotted a sign, _Royal Hope Hospital_.

The Doctor shrugged and resignedly smiled. "Looks like I'm going to be a patient."

* * *

A little later on, the Doctor was running down the hospital corridor, leaving Miss. Martha Jones behind him, leaving her stunned…he was slightly stunned himself, but it had been necessary, he had needed to put the Judoon off of his trail, just for a little while. She would not be harmed, no, not if she kept her head and he knew that she was a rational woman, she had coped well enough with ending up on the moon and she had reasoned out what was happening.

The Doctor was certain that Martha was skeptical about him and his antics while…he was skeptical as well, yes, especially when he had not even wanted to be here in the first place, in this position, it felt too soon for him. Then again, he could not stand the silence in the TARDIS anymore, not when he always arrived in a new place without any aid, not when he could not help recalling Donna's words, that he needed to _find_ someone to stop him…no, maybe he had not really found that someone.

Here he was, running off into certain danger, and Martha had been too stunned to try and stop him and he had not wanted her to stop him…the Doctor was going to find Florence Finnegan, the Plasmavore, and do whatever was necessary to bring her into the custody of the Judoons. He could feel the oxygen draining away, he could feel the vacuum of space pressing against the force field, he was light-headed and didn't know what to think anymore, didn't know what to hope for as he located her in the MRI and, hamming it up as a clueless human, managed to find out what destruction she planned to wrought.

At that point, the Doctor had let slip the news that the Judoon were now intent on secondary scans, as naively as he could manage, and when Florence approached him with that straw of hers…he grimaced as it was jammed into his neck and then his eyes glazed over as she began to suck. What was oxygen loss? No, that was nothing compared to this slow drain, excruciating as he blanked out..._  
_

* * *

_Martha_…she had far surpassed the Doctor's expectations, yes, she had _gone after him _and he owed his life to her…she had kept her head and had done what was necessary so that the Judoon apprehended the Plasmavore, then had done what her training had readied her for, to save a life even when her dedication had taken so much out of her. After he had unplugged the MRI, the Doctor had returned to her, lifting her up into his arms as he thought how fragile she was, without the sparkle in her eyes, yet how beguiling she was in her vulnerability…as he had carried her to the window, with the Judoon lifting off, he even forgot the hopelessness for a moment with the scent of her perfume.

The Doctor smiled as he stood. "Look, Martha. It's raining on the moon."

* * *

The Doctor left her afterwards, yes, but he had been drawn back…he had stood at the mouth of the alleyway, seeing her family argue, and then slipped away when she noticed him, trusting that she would follow. Martha had come and he had wanted to impress her, slipping back into time to meet her, to smile at her expression of surprise before he returned triumphantly, unfazed by his disarray, not when he could see her face again and her astonishment at the final realization…he could return to her again and again, he knew, he would never grow tired with her face and her eyes and her smile. They had stepped back into the TARDIS, together, it was not so silent and it was certainly brighter, but he didn't mind, the shadows were gone for now and as the Doctor reached across to shake the hand of Martha Jones, he knew that he had made a connection…she would never replace Rose, yes, but at least _one _trip with her would make him feel better. 


	6. A Winter's Tale

**Author's Note:** **Here is my post for _The Shakespeare Code_ and, in honor of the great Bard, it shall be in pseudo-Shakespearian language and with Shakespeare quotes added in! Truly a genius of the English language. At the end, there will be two soliloquies and, yes, Martha will have her say, but only reflecting upon the Time Lord. Enjoy, please R & R!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who and Shakespeare...public domain, yay!  
**

* * *

**A Winter's Tale**

For fun in mystery, for mystery in fun the Doctor in his chariot of a TARDIS carried away Martha Jones, with his foot pressing down on the controls to speed them off even as they tumbled down, but that was no matter to him as he turned to her, telling her that outside these doors was a brave new world. Though it might have been familiar ground in a…familiar time for him, 1599 by the banks of the Thames that he had already drained in the 21st century, it was still a brave new world because it was what he wanted it to be, for himself and for Martha, one where they would not have to worry about disasters or about being accepted. No, this was a brave new world where they could enjoy themselves, and so Doctor escorted her to that Globe and stood alongside her, watching the play _Love's Labor Lost_ even as he felt the words come trippingly to him on the tongue, he could have recited that fresh new play as if it was an old catechism.

Soon, there was his hero, who Nature might stand up and say to all the world, _this _was a man that made Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend their ears to him so that his words could last…though the Doctor could not help feeling disappointed when William Shakespeare cried, "Shut your big fat mouth!"

Yet the Doctor would not debunk him then, not say that maybe Elizabeth the 1st had written the plays and sonnets, or Francis Bacon, or the Earl of Oxford, or Kit for that matter, Shakespeare's credibility could not be illegitimate construction! So, further intrigued by the announcement of _Love's Labor Won_ to be performed tomorrow, the Doctor knew that he had to see that play while still drying in its ink, to read it before it was lost and know from its language that the full genius of this man was warranted. It could not hurt to stay a few more hours, Martha only had this one trip and he could not resist this chance, so they headed to the Elephant and the Doctor soon found himself in front of the Bard…though before he could barely say a thing, the man began to flirt with Martha, what fools these mortals be!

The Doctor handed over his psychic paper, confident that it would do the trick, but when William Shakespeare only saw it to be blank…this man could not be fooled by visions, his genius was all the more true! Ah, but here came the Master of the Revels, not so jolly as his title as he was passing fell and wrath in his demands for that script, but when denied, proclaimed in his departure that _Love's Labor Won _would not be performed, what a creeping venomed thing was he! Yet not long afterwards, the Doctor and the others heard a clamor and rushed out, to see master Lynley spewing such a tempest before he collapsed, poor key-cold figure shall not keep his revels here tonight no more, what sort of witchcraft was this?

* * *

Oh, dark night, the storms had returned in the hearts and mind of the Doctor, such an odd death for the Master of the Revels did not bode well for the script, there had not even been such trouble with the…'Scottish' play or with the 7th tome of Potter. Though Martha was good company and she was willing to help with her rational mind, yet this was not a problem for rationality, there was more to heaven and earth and beyond than was taught in her philosophy. The could not help believing that Rose might have come across something, by mere chance perhaps, but she was not here and praising what was lost made the remembrance dear. Suddenly, a scream echoed and he was back in the physical realm, rushing towards a room to find that he was too late, too late for the poor woman, whilst Martha did declare that out in the night, flying high, was a witch on a broom, there was no more rationality to be made!

With the morn's return, return to the Globe, to see that the theatre in the round had 14 sides, why such a number? And so on to Bedlam, to be or not to be in such a state of madness for poor Peter Streete, who had spoken of witches, who the Doctor lured out of his slumber to say that, despairing of his own arm's fortitude in building the Globe, he had to join with witches and the help of hell, which would reside at All Hallows Street. Oh, but there is the horrible form now, which deprived Peter of his sovereignty of reason and draw him into madness, the Doomfinger that now makes him a corpse to 'scape not the thunderbolt!

Yet even as such a witch threatened them, the Doctor saw through such a guise, to what would harry her away to nothingness when what is decreed must be, and so be Carrionite, for such would explain their purpose here, plaguing such a man as Shakespeare, who united the power of words with the force of his performances. The Doctor felt grimly jovial, to know that he had solved the problem with the play as the thing, and so he told his hero to halt the act and then he departed once more with Martha, onto the breach and to All Hallows Street, damn'd be the consequences when he be just and fear not! There was such a witch of sprite there, with such plans to open the portal between the realms, but Carrionite could not work now, Martha Jones was fallen with the failure of her rationality and he could do nothing as Lilith approached.

* * *

There had once been a lady, in whom sacred and sweet was all he saw despite her reputation, and she had also looked into his mind, to afterwards gaze upon him and murmur, "Doctor Who? It's more than just a secret, isn't it?"

Reinette, known to many as only Madame du Pompadour, understood him then and how, long ago, he had learned the importance of words, and perhaps she saw how anyone could take thee by a word, and not just by any word, but by a name. Lilith could not name him, could not rob him of that which not enriches her to make him poor indeed, for she did know how to tell him who he was and so destroy him. The Doctor always had more than he showest, speak less than he knowest, and lend less than he owest, and if he had his true name written, he would tear the word, a name that would have been an enemy to him. Yet he was new baptized and to his own self true, for his true name was no part of him, for what's in a name when the Doctor was himself and would retain that dear perfection which he owned _with_ that title?

So Lilith tried to weaken him with the private wound that is deepest, by saying 'Rose', but such strength he gained to fight by the thought of _she _that which we call a rose, by any other name, would be as sweet and as strong on such a night as this and he would become the oncoming storm, the uncertain glory of an April day, for her name. Foul seductress became that witch then, stealing away a lock of his hair and a part of himself as she stabbed him in the heart, so that he had to remain still and as patient as a gentle stream until he was sure that she was gone and go to the trouble of restarting his heart again, such a bit of trouble then when there was so much that still had to be done. The Doctor and Martha hastened away, only to find that it would have been better to be three hours too soon than a minute too late, as the code of the incantation was spoken, _"The light of Shadmock's hollow moon doth shine on to a point in space betwixt Dravidian Shores and Linear 5930167.02, and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel 4; co-radiating crystal activate!"_

How the Carrionites did fly, swarming into the Globe from the great beyond where they had been trapped by the Eternals, but his hero Shakespeare was there, perhaps the man could do no wrong so long as he strove to find the right words to seal the portal tight and he did well, as mightily well as he could, yet that final word! Oh, heaven and earth, what was needed to abjure this rough magic? Hold a moment, Martha speaks: O, speak again, for thou art as glorious as a gentle spring to this night, the rarest of all women, Expelliarmus! Now the Carrionites doth flee away, back to their cells, while one crystal ball doth contain the horrid trio that had caused all of this, which the Doctor decided to keep in a 'dark attic' on the TARDIS…kindness, nobler than revenge.

* * *

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time for all…except the Doctor. In the morn, the mortals are at it again, Shakespeare reciting poetry for his Dark Lady, Your monument shall be my gentle verse, which eyes not yet created shall o'er read, but lo, the Bard reveals his genius once more, to so identify them as to whence they belonged, the Doctor beyond the stars and Martha beyond this time. Oh, Shakespeare, he was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, live register'd upon thy brazen tomb and then grace you in the disgrace of death, to make you heir of all eternity! Hark, what witch calls now? None other than Queen Elizabeth, declaring that the Doctor was her sworn enemy and that his head should be taken, yet he did not know why she could snap at him so like a shrew…though he felt now that he might actually go back and say a word or two to Thomas Howard, the 4th Duke of Norfolk…or maybe 6 words, to be exact.

The Doctor and Martha are forced to flee, Give me thy hand, Martha, 'tis late; farewell, good night and Shakespeare would say, The elements be kind to thee, and make thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well! As the TARDIS dematerialized from that brave new world, 1599 by the Thames, he thought that mayhap they might find far more fun, and perhaps far less mystery, upon a distant star in a far-off time…Thus we play the fools with time. It could not hurt to extend Martha's trip a few hours more, this was her only trip and he could not resist the chance**  
**

* * *

**Martha's Soliloquy: **How poor are they that have not patience. 'Tis good to be sad and say nothing. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, and knows not how to do it, but with tears. The course of true love never did run smooth. For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where though art not, desolation. All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder. A rarer spirit never did steer humanity. Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt. What is best, that best I wish in thee. I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me. I'll note you in my book of memory. Oh, honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief, o more be grieved at that which thou hast doneLove sought is good, but given unsought is better. What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Who can control his fate? Have patience, and endure. Not Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn the living record of your memory. Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, his honour and greatness of his name shall be: The Doctor.

* * *

**The Doctor's Soliloquy:** I hear, yet say not much, yet hear the more. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well. To expostulate why day is day, night night, and time is time, were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. If I lose mine honour, I lose myself. Though with the high wrongs of such humans like Queen Elizabeth, he was struck to the quick, yet with his nobler reason, with Martha at his side, against his own fury did he take part. The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power. They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.

There was such a sole drift to his purpose, when he shared with humans both a touch, a feeling of their afflictions, yet to relish all as sharply when passion should overcome him to be kindlier moved and to take the rarer action in virtue than in vengeance…so much the rarer indeed. Things must be as they may. The end crowns all, and that old common arbitrator, time, will one day end it. If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms. The endeavor of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge: How now, spirit, whither wonder you?


	7. Smog and Faith

**Smog and Faith**

**Author's Note:**** Well, Series 3 has come and gone, but 'Reflections' will still continue; I'll probably catch up with the Sci-Fi run of the Series! Anyway, I don't think anyone read 'A Winter's Tale', but looking back over it now that I have seen the finale…boy, parts of the soliloquies just seem to match perfectly! Well, as to the title of this story to 'Gridlock'…I know, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else. So, on with the story, and please read and review!**

* * *

"The sky is burnt orange with a Citadel enclosed in a mighty glass dome…shining under twin suns…beyond that, the mountains go on forever…slopes of deep red grass capped with snow."

Gallifrey…gone forever. The Doctor could never go back, so why linger on the memory? So he lied to Martha as they landed in New New York, thinking that she would still be impressed by this dazzling city and forget all about her inquiry of his home planet…yet things just went downhill from there. It was as if the sky had caught him in his lie, when they stepped out into the rain in that horrid little alley, but he tried to reassure himself that things were getting better when the rain stopped, though then Martha had caught his remark about having been here before…and correctly guessed that it had been with Rose.

The Doctor had not understood what was the problem with that, really, there was no reason why Martha should have gotten so annoyed by that, should have gone so far as to call this a 'rebound'…then those terrible, parasitic Pharmacists had popped open their stalls like Venus flytraps. A girl had come, drawn to them…he had tried to stop her, tried to stop her from taking that dose of 'Forget' when he needed to know more about this 'Motorway', but she placed that patch on her neck and she gazed up at him, bewilderingly polite, dismissing his query of her parents as she drifted away into the smoke of the smoke. The Doctor glanced after her, disturbed in spite of himself, for even with the pain of all that he had lost, he did not want to forget…why would anyone want to forget?

Martha spoke behind him, uttering some remark about the future of the human race, but then she screamed and he turned around, shocked to see a pair-the man was clutching her, with a gun to her head, while the other woman was pointing another gun at him. The Doctor approached them as they backed away with their hostage, reaching out towards them as the stalls banged shut, he yelled at them to let her go, then he tried to reason with them, he could help them, but even a Time Lord could only stand so much as he became furious. There was a delay as the door had locked behind them, but the Doctor soon had that open in a jiffy and rushed after them, yet he arrived too late as their van took off, hovering and zooming away, as he could only helplessly scream out her name- "MARTHA!"

* * *

"What if there's just the Motorway? With cars going round and round, never stopping, forever?"

For the Doctor, it was a nightmare, a familiar one of a whole world, of a great city, ruined by neglect from the powerful and complacency from the people below, not able to see that everything had gone wrong. Now Martha Jones was stuck in the middle of this mess, heading down to the Fast Lane where so many had vanished…Thomas Kincade Brannigan, cross as he was, reproached him, insisting that they were not abandoned, not while they had each other. The Doctor was uncertain, unwilling to trust in that, just as he heard the voices in the distance…upraised in song, now joined by Brannigan and his wife Valerie, uttering the words to an old religious song with so much tenderness for each other. He listened, for the words could not come to him, he listened as he had listened to Mozart not so long ago in another time and place…and it was a marvel in its own way, that all of these people on the Motorway, sealed up in their cars with hardly any access to each other, could still be so in harmony to each other. Helpless as they were, yet when they poured forth all of their sorrow and hope into this song, they gave it a power of its own, uplifted to the closed roof of this smoggy space; the Doctor did not know what to believe in now, but at that moment, he knew that Brannigan was right.

"If you won't take me, I'll go on my own."

He knew it was insane, to jump down from car to car, so much could go wrong…he could miss and fall, he could choke to death, the passengers inside might be killers, but he had to go…for Martha, who he barely knew because he had not given her a chance, because he had been trying to amaze her, because he still couldn't let go of Rose, and because he had lied. The Doctor hated lying…a fib every now and then, fine enough, but a lie to her straight-forward question about Gallifrey…he did not want that to be some of the last words he had ever spoken to her. Well, onward and downward, using his sonic screwdriver to unseal bottom hatches and then roof hatches, through one car and then another…it went on forever, one big blur.

The Doctor rambled his excuses to an eclectic assortment of people, he had expected some strange things in some of these cars, but some of it was a little odd…a man and his interior splattered with white, then another with red, some nudists, and…well, he found himself interrupting some odd acts and dealings, yet he moved right on along, just coming and going. Coming and going, coming and going, the bandana wrapped over his nose and mouth, yet the smog kept slithering into his body, he went faster and faster, but the pace never seemed quick enough, the darkness and fear of time running out for her. At last, the Doctor reached the bottom, run ragged as he sagged against the driver's seat of a spiffy businessman.

"Have you got any water?"

"Never let it be said that I have lost my manners," The businessman remarked, handing over a cone-shaped plastic cup full of water…sweet, cool, refreshing water. The Doctor gulped it all down at once, satiated his thirst, trying to drown out the smog from his system…and then it was back to the trouble at hand, finding a way to reach Martha down below. Yet the businessman wouldn't comply, no way to cheat the automated Motorway, so he went off to glance down the hatch, down and down into the brownish, brackish smog with a roar from its depths…a grating, rousing, rumbling roar.

Unable to see, and yet he had to, so the Doctor made quick work of the car's systems to give better visibility down below…the glaring, bright eyes and snapping claws…the Macara. The remnants of a once powerful, cunning Empire that had once been the scourge of the galaxy as it enslaved humans, now devolved into this parasitical state, sheltered in the depths of the Motorway and feeding off of its gas and inhabitants…oh, how the mighty hath fallen, degraded and deposed, seeking a recourse in bare resources. At least Gallifrey had never degenerated so much into such beasts, even during the Time War, and now that he was the last of the Time Lords…he would not allow himself to embarrass the memory of his people, even if they had not always been perfect.

"Oh, it's like New Times Square in here!" cried the businessman as an old Cat, dressed in black robes and clutching a gun, clambered into the car…none other than Novice Hame, who remarked that time had been less kind to her, probably something she deserved with the 'Flesh' incident of that hospital. Yet forgiveness…she swore to it, telling him that she had been guided and that perhaps now she might redeem herself, but when the Doctor told her that they had to go to the Fast Lane, she insisted otherwise, the old Cat nun just as fierce as ever…and then he was gone.

* * *

A teleport…with enough power for one trip only, and why him? How could Novice Hame have known that he would be here, in New New York, but…the Senate. The horror of so many skeletons, seated high above as he stood in the center with the old Cat nun, the sun shining down upon him as he listened to her tale of 'Bliss' and New Earth decimated, with only those in the Motorway…saved from such death, saved to lurk in the smog and threatened by Macra, yet still _saved_ by…the Face of Boe.

The wise, old face gazed out at him from the smoke of his vat…he had protected his nurse, despite her sin, shrouding her in his smoke when 'Bliss' had ravaged everything, and then he had closed off the Undercity and wired himself into the mainframe, giving his life to keep the city alive. The Doctor, crouched beside the vat, had his hand pressed up against the glass…it was cool and moist, the smoke condensing in droplets with the energy given off; this was not the smog of the Motorway or the smoke that had vanished the Forgetful girl, this was a kinder cloud that shaded the worn, wrinkled skin of this strange creature. He was solid, a fact, but the Doctor expected that from such a legend as the Face of Boe was, who had been rumored to have lived for millions of years and yet was still so kind, especially when he had sacrificed so much of himself to New New York. He was confused, uncertain of this creature that stared so adamantly at him, as he slowly stood.

"So you two stayed here…on your own for all of these years."

The Doctor respected Novice Hame then, to have been so loyal for so long and despite what sorrow or pain she might have suffered, and then the Face of Boe made his plea to the Doctor, as he turned to stare at the furrowed face, to save them…and the old creature inhaled, so painfully.

* * *

"That friend of mine, he may think of something," Martha murmured, her breath gasping when the air was wasting away.

As Milo and Cheen listened, she told them of the Doctor, what little she could, of the Time Lord that she had just followed, perhaps on little more than a whim after the wonders that she had seen. Martha, now honest with herself as she faced death, confessed that she did not know him, not when there was so much that he never said. Still, even when she had resented his old feelings for another named Rose, yet she knew that he needed her with him and when Cheen insisted that it was hopeless, trusting a complete stranger to save them, Martha defended him.

"You haven't seen the things he can do, honestly, just trust me. Both of you. You've got your faith, you've got your songs and your hymns, and I've got the Doctor."

* * *

The Doctor rushed, circuits, wire, flipping switches as the screens flickered, distracted once more with the chance to fully devote himself to this project, just what he needed to fix things, always fixing things-why redeem himself when he could work as hard as ever before, brilliant as he was with computers? Out with the sonic screwdriver, give it a good bang, come to life, old city, let the people go; yet with the lever thrown, it failed…this had been his only chance, it couldn't die like this, not after all of his effort, he had trusted his work and now…Gallifrey had failed, just like this. The Doctor scurried and hurried, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, he wouldn't allow himself to give up even if he couldn't get through…the Face of Boe called his name, but the Doctor did not pay heed to him, absorbed in his task to save all and sundry, he had to succeed…the power surged on then. The Face of Boe had given it one last surge with what remained of his life.

"Don't you die on me, you big old face!" the Doctor called, "You've got to see this!"

He pulled the lever for the open road, the open Motorway…its roof, its sky, split asunder with the glorious sun shining down upon all of those souls, if only he could see it…at least he could be a part of the event, he thought to himself as he transmitted his message to everyone, to Martha-'Drive up.' Oh, but the Doctor could see them rising as he went to the window, gazing out with a smile on his face…he was responsible for this, as he had made new humans here on New Earth, now he had granted them new life and new light with access to the surface and sky, and now Martha Jones was heading straight for him. Yet he had almost forgotten…he turned his face away from the window, looked away from the light, to the cracking vat that housed the Face of Boe, so fragile after all of the effort and power that _he _had granted to the city of New New York…new life had risen at the sacrifice of an older, wiser life-force…and the vat broke.

A few minutes later, the Doctor heard Martha's voice utter his name and he called her over as he turned to face her, to see how she might react…she realized the solemnity of the scene, not frightened by the Face of Boe, who stared across at her. Nevertheless, the Doctor reassured her and told her that it was all right to approach, speaking to her like a child for he almost felt as old as this other creature…and he told her that the Face of Boe had truly saved her, not him, for he would not claim responsibility for what he hadn't done. He wouldn't lie to her about something as important as this, not anymore…Novice Hame spoke of the Face of Boe dying and the Doctor denied it, a child who would not believe that someone as important as…he did not even know the Face of Boe, and yet he trusted him, felt his pain and his wisdom as well, of a sort even far beyond his own…how could something so old surrender, after all that he had done?

"I have seen so much, perhaps too much," the Face of Boe communicated. "I am the last of my kind…as you are the last of yours, Doctor."

The Doctor stared at him, into those adamant eyes…so piercing, even now, as he felt an odd _déjà vu _that he could not place, but in any case, he knew what the creature had meant by having seen too much…so many years ago, he would never have believed that he would have seen Gallifrey burn. Martha Jones, so close to him, had surely understood what the Face of Boe meant by 'the last of your kind'…at least she knew the truth now, the truth that could not be denied, so brazen as it was, that he was alone.

"That's why we have to survive," the Doctor told him. "Both of us. Don't go."

"I must, but know this, Time Lord…You Are Not Alone." The Face of Boe so uttered and the eyes closed; he was gone.

Novice Hame cried, but the Doctor barely heard her, staring in disbelief at the still Face…what could he have meant? How could he believe in those words, even with what power they might have…yet there was a power in them, even if he might try to deny them, 'You Are Not Alone' seeped its way into his mind, heart, and soul. He stood and gazed down at the Face of Boe…whatever else, he had been a force for good, and that could not be denied at least.

Soon after, the Doctor and Martha Jones left the Senate, returning once more to that horrid alley, and yet things were truly better now…though when she asked if the Face of Boe had meant for those words to be about her, he could not lie and so told her that it was not so, even though it pained her…so he tried to say that the words did not matter. He turned away, but heard a clank as she pulled up a chair, firmly planted in its seat as she insisted that he tell her everything, just as fierce as a Cat…he might not lie to her anymore, but he could still fib a little, put off the inevitable. Yet the song…high above, they sang in joy, all sorrows forgotten or perhaps remembered still now that they had a chance to fulfill their hopes…it was indeed the city, New New York, and the song had such power, enough to make him confess his own sorrow, that the Face of Boe had to be wrong when he was indeed the last of the Time Lords. So the Doctor pulled up a chair and spoke to her of the war.

"Oh, you should have seen that old planet…the second sun would rise in the south and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver…"**  
**

* * *

**Well, that's it for Gridlock! This really took a bit of effort, I'll admit, but I think I captured the mood of it…in a way, it's nice to have some foresight, get more of a perspective with retrospection now that we've seen the whole series.**


	8. It's a Hell of a Town

**It's a Hell of a Town**

**Author's Note:**** Here we are…Daleks in Manhatten/Evolution of the Daleks. Maybe not the best two-parter in the new series, but it's what matters to our favorite Time Lord. He certainly did not have a fun time…**

* * *

_Made it, Ma! Top of the world!_

The Doctor harshly groaned to himself as he thought about that while the red light bulb flickered, his fingers steadily gripping the sonic screwdriver as he began to unloosen a bolt on one of the clamps securing a Dalekanium strip to the legs of a pole, up here at the top of the Empire State Building; the solar flare was coming closer. What should he be afraid of…oh, plenty of things perhaps, but the Doctor wasn't afraid at that moment, not really, it was just work as usual; he just had to keep telling himself that as he moved the sonic screwdriver to deal with another bolt. The lethal mix of heights and possible electrocution, yes, that did worry him a little more right now than even the Daleks would have…his 4th body had faced quite a bit of exposure to both in its time, especially in Logopolis with the final fall, and he did not want to put his 10th body through a combined encounter.

The Doctor grunted, hearing the thunder in the distance, but his eyes were riveted on the bolts as he continued, ripping off one clamp after another; from the depths to the heights of New York, at least he could say that he had gotten the full tourist experience with a little excitement and even a show thrown into the mix. Of course, he doubted that travel agencies would have advertised such a trip like this; running through the sewers chased by pig men, enjoying a pleasant evening at Hooverville on fire, and working alongside none other than the Daleks…that would be just like New New York enticing tourists to come visit their clean Sisters of Plenitude hospital or take a drive along the Motorway. The Doctor wrenched off the first strip of Dalekanium, thinking to himself that this would take forever, as he hoped that Martha, Frank, and Tallulah could find some way of holding off the pig men; he grimaced and tossed it aside. He dashed over to the other leg of the pole, his sonic screwdriver unloosening the first bolt on this other strip as he looked up at the dark sky and the approaching clouds, thinking of how Solomon had faced this same darkness before he had been killed and then of how _he_ had faced it before…he exhaled.

The gamma strike was getting close and the Doctor was finding it harder to concentrate, the sonic screwdriver wasn't working properly or fast enough, the bolt was just too stubborn…he tugged at the clamp, his fingers fumbling, and suddenly the sonic screwdriver slipped away from him. He lunged after it, crying out, but it had fallen, and it was too far too reach; everything had depended on this and it had failed, he had failed again as he panted heavily, thinking back to New New York and how the Face of Boe had been forced to sacrifice his life force when he couldn't get the power back to open the Motorway. The Doctor gritted his teeth and sat up, grasping one of the Dalekanium strips as he uselessly heaved at it, screaming out to the night, but time was draining away and this was futile, he had lost control of the situation again this night. He let go, staring up with the red light flashing, flickering, and then he began to climb up the pole, the wind whipping his coat around…he clung to the pole, hoping against hope that this crazy idea would work.

_Is this the end of Rico? _He barely had time for that one last thought before the gamma/lightning strike streaked down the pole, the blue sparks flaring and coursing through his body as he screamed, there was not even time for terror when there was only pain…and he had wanted this, because there was no other recourse, not when there might be a chance to redeem what was a hopeless cause now. When the lightning strike had finished its course, the Doctor fell from the pole, the emblem of suffering and shame, unconscious…

* * *

That Atlantic breeze…a welcome change from all the smog of New New York; the Doctor had only thought it best, after all, that Martha should get the chance to see a better New York, or at least one that was much better than what New New York had become by the time they got there. What better way to kick things off right than to wind up right at the base of his 'friend', the Statue of Liberty? 

"Gateway to the New World …'give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.'"

Well, it was sort of a gateway to a _new _world for him after the one he had just visited, even if this _new _world was quite familiar; all in all, the Doctor did feel tired, he usually didn't have any money with him, and he had just come from such a place where those huddled masses were finally able to breathe free because of him…and the Face of Boe. He was very tired and could barely properly introduce New York to Martha.

"Well, there's the genuine article. So good they named it twice. Mind you, it was New Amsterdam originally. Harder to say twice, no wonder it didn't catch on. New Amsterdam, New Amsterdam."

Yet after that…Martha brought him the paper for November 1st 1930 with the headline **'Hooverville Mystery Deepens'** and so they made their way to Central Park, to Hooverville…the Undercity of Depression-era New York, a place he had expected to be full of disheartened and desperate souls. When they arrived in that shanty-town, they spotted enough of that gloom, yet despite such ill luck, they witnessed how these people humans managed to live peacefully with each other…because of Solomon, who had a way with the crowd, calming down explosive situations and reminding them all that they had to survive together, and certainly caught the Doctor's attention as he realized who was in charge here. Still, Solomon was in charge out of necessity, for even with the Depression affecting so many, the poor were ignored and misused for progress had to continue; the landmark of New York was no longer the Statue of Liberty but the Empire State Building, looming over everything and everyone.

When Mr. Diagoras soon showed up, requiring men to work the sewers even when so many had failed to return…well, what else could the Doctor do except volunteer? He would have worked for free, but a dollar was good enough, yet he soon he had company with Martha, Solomon, and Frank…that just made him all the more concerned about what might just happen down there when he was getting so many involved. They were sent down, without much in the way of equipment or even directions, another incentive to make him suspicious about this business; for the Doctor, it was just icing on the cake then when he found not only that lump of alien flesh, but also a half-man, half-pig mutant as confirmation, which might have been encouraging…if they had not lost Frank soon afterwards to a whole pack of those pig mutants.

* * *

It was now early in the evening and the Doctor was situated up in the balcony of the theatre where Tallulah performed, patching together the last bits and pieces of the device he would use to learn of the origins for the alien flesh they had found not so long ago. As he worked, he thought about the losses that had been suffered for the attainment of this specimen, not just Frank, but now Solomon as well since he had left them. The man had been troubled, thinking that he had practically abandoned Frank because he had not had the courage to rescue him from his capturers, and despite the Doctor's attempts to reassure him, he had soon left to take care of his own responsibilities to Hooverville and to organize them to face their adversaries. 

Well, perhaps it would prove necessary to fight, but the Doctor was still uncertain about the situation and he needed to know just what they were facing, because those pig mutants were just slaves, minions, he had seen the like of them before…there were bound to be larger minds controlling them. After all, he had known a pig in the past that had turned out to be a decoy, even if it had been a little messed around with, with those fat cats on Downing Street in control…at last, as Tallulah sang of angels and devils, all one and the same, the Doctor fixed up the device and was able to analyze the specimen of alien flesh, only with the results of its origin as…_Skaro_.

That name, that name, by any other name it would still be so foul, for he had lost so much and yet they always came back as relentless as the spin of the universe, as the vacuum of space…the planet of Skaro, of the Daleks…of the _Cult of Skaro_, of course! Though the Doctor still reeled, he was riled up, but a thought entered his mind that chilled him and sent him running, hurrying to find the one person that he cared about now more than himself; _Martha_, for all that had been lost and torn apart before by the Daleks, and to try and prevent more of that from happening again. Yet he was too late, as he heard her scream, and so he jumped down into that darkness and filth of the sewers to save her, not even thinking of what courage that must have taken; as before, however, he was unwillingly accompanied by none other than Tallulah, who had lost her Lazlo, only to soon find him again, much changed, a runaway from the Dalek lab. Yet what was the purpose of such a lab?

* * *

_The casing opened…there was a being there, crouched, and then it _stood_, complete with the body of a human, but with the head of a Dalek…everything seemed to spin out of control as this _thing _cried, "I am a Human Dalek! I am your future!"_

Human Dalek, what sort of a thing was that? The Doctor didn't know, and that was something, but he still had to try and regain control over the situation, for though the humans were helpless when it came to Depression and Daleks, he had seen too much of the future and it was worth more than all of that, he would not allow himself to become like that _thing_…even if it meant doing something daring. It might distract the Daleks, or at least that special one, just long enough to save the others so that they wouldn't be changed, but as he sneaked away, he wondered if it would just end badly for him; still, he did find just what he needed, and with a few changes to make it better…anyone want a little bit of music to lighten the mood, make the proper introductions…or reintroductions?

"Ah, well, now, that would be me. Hello, surprise, boo, etcetera…"

It almost did turn out badly for the Doctor, but ah, that Human Dalek stopped them within the instant…maybe he was something different, or at least clever, the result of all that desperate experimenting, which begged the question;

"What does it feel like?"

Probing away, analyzing the situation, asking questions, feeling and thinking, that was the way to get at the _heart _of the matter, to make Dalek Sec awareof _himself_, for the first time ever in this new form…though it didn't quite go the way he planned, when Sec could only sense the terrible side of humanity, the side so closely related to Daleks. Oh…it was a failure, this Human Dalek, they had achieved _nothing _significant except for this _thing_, so at least he knew that much now and could go ahead and use his distraction, this supposedly pointless radio that did nothing but play music…yet music was very powerful, as the Doctor had learned from Mozart and from the humans on the Motorway.

The humans could see the beauty and be pleased by music, but Daleks could only get disconcerted by the power of the _noise_, now amplified by that blast of sonic energy to sorely pain…well, just the Human Dalek in truth, but at least it gave them all the chance to escape. Yet as they dashed off through the sewers, heading back to Hooverville, the Doctor had to ask himself what _he_ felt right now…disappointed, perhaps, but he was still wound up by the rush, the never ending rush and adrenaline of this life with so many catastrophes in his path, even if there was bound to be a crash of energy in the end…he would become tired again soon enough.

Still, in Hooverville, he caught up again with Solomon and was glad to have the chance to calm down as he told him about what had happened; the man was also able to understand things and put them into perspective…the Daleks were indeed the stuff of nightmares, but _he _was the stuff of legends; he could face them. Nevertheless, the Doctor knew that everyone else had to go, but Solomon was too stubborn in his pacifist nature, and by then it was too late; the Daleks and the Pigs had finally caught up with them.

"It's started."

There it was, that tired feeling, that weariness with so much fighting and loss; still, he could not allow it to swallow him up now, not while there was so much to be done, not while they had to prepare themselves for the assault, but most were scattering and it was all just chaos as a few were snatched, here and there, while the rest gathered in a meager circle to stand up against the enemy in the darkness, around…and above. The Doctor knew that it was lost as the Daleks, those devils in the sky, blasted at them and burn, Hooverville, burn and he was powerless below…yet Solomon still stood tall, even as he tried to push him back towards the cowering crowd; the man called out to the Daleks. He tried to warn him, but the man used his authority and even pushed back the Doctor, striding forward as he appealed to the monstrosities, crying out that they were the same, akin as outcasts, and he laid down his gun to speak of the universe and of his fear and yet of his hope as well for a better future, together…for a moment, the Doctor believed.

"So I beg you, now," said Solomon, "If you have any compassion in your hearts, then you will meet with us and stop this fighting…"

Oh, but Solomon, they had no hearts and could not understand your words; so the Doctor was brought rudely back to reality as they exterminated that man and so many cried out in fear and sorrow, yet he felt only blind, reckless anger towards those that had dashed so many of his hopes and beliefs and had destroyed so much;

"Daleks…" The Doctor whispered and then strode forward; the Doctor stood.

The Doctor shouted, "All right, so it's my turn! Then kill me! Kill me if it'll stop you from attacking these people!"

That was what he had wanted then, never doubting, thinking of the countless Time Lords and men who had fallen, but it was not to be…he was bewildered and dismayed, to have lost such control over his own fate, as the Dalek at last told him that he was to be taken away. The Doctor gazed up at the darkness, at the Dalek above, awareness of what had almost happened sinking in as Martha called out to him and came to him…telling him that he couldn't go, yet he had to…how could the Daleks change their minds unless they were being _ordered _to do so by their Human Dalek, their Dalek Sec? He even made them promise to spare the lives of the others, that was another sign…he was dumbfounded, his dismay disappearing and replaced by curiosity and even a hint of excitement while Martha told him that she was coming.

"Martha, stay here. Do what you do best, people are hurt, you can help them. Let me go. Oh, and…can I just say…thank you very much," he added with a wink, slipping her his wallet with the psychic paper.

The Doctor turned and strode away, slipping his hands into his pockets as the Daleks soared above, guarding their prisoner on the way back to their underground lair; he passed by the burning ruins of Hooverville, but didn't let his eyes linger and didn't allow himself to turn around, for he was being led away to meet the splintered being, stuck between humans and Daleks, and would be too helpless to do anything except his bidding; the Doctor was heading to Hell. Otherwise known as the Empire State Building.

* * *

"_Doctor!" _Martha… _"Look what we found, halfway down…you're getting careless!"_

"Uh, my head…" the Doctor turned his throbbing head, staring up at Martha's smiling, crying face. "Hi…you've survived, then."

She could only laugh. "So did you. Just about. I can't help but noticing…there's Dalekanium still attached."

The Doctor quickly sat up and turned his head, gazing towards the pole…oh, right, he had nearly forgotten about that. The Daleks…now that they had overthrown Sec as leaders, those Dalek humans would be on the loose in the sewers, but then again…well, there was that one chance, yet they had to draw away those creations to a safe place where they wouldn't be able to cause much harm; Tallulah's theatre, it would be completely empty, and the perfect setting for the confrontation. So allons-y to the theatre and spread the news for a show-stopper, send out the signal, but Martha wouldn't obey when he told her to leave…that Dalek remark was completely uncalled for as well, yet here they came, the willing audience all in a line in the aisle and Daleks on stage; he never would have imagined that before.

Yet Dalek Sec…it was a shame, a sight that made the Doctor rise as he glanced around, looking for any sign that he might be able to take control; the Daleks called him forward and he strode over the backs of the theatre seats, stopping a short distance away with feet spread apart on armrests as he listened to their pronouncement of a 'new age' on Earth, New Skaro…what sort of an existence would that be for those that survived? The Doctor stood.

"Oh, and what a world, with anything just the slightest bit different _grounded _into the dirt. That's Dalek Sec, do you remember? The cleverest Dalek ever and look at what you've done to him. Is that your new empire, hmm? Is that the foundation of a whole new civilization?"

"My Daleks," Sec appealed to his kin. "Just understand this…if you choose death and destruction, then death and destruction will choose you."

Yet the Daleks did not understand and tried to exterminate the Doctor, but instead, Sec sacrificed himself to try and protect the only one who might have been able to help them survive…now there was no hope for them, no way for them to escape the darkness now, even if they did not realize it. So now the Doctor appealed to the Dalek humans, those that stood lined up with glazed eyes, to witness what had happened, and then taunted the Daleks to make their creations destroy him; he stood as he had done before, staring into the darkness, but now he had hope and was not completely lost to anger and despair. He inhaled sharply, stiffened and waiting…nothing happened even as the Daleks told 'their' creations to obey.

"Why?" were the first words and the Doctor thought it good, for they were his creation, just as much as what he had created before on New Earth…they were not Daleks.

"No, you are not…and you never will be." The Doctor turned to the Daleks. "Sorry. I got in the way of the lightning strike. Time Lord DNA got all mixed up, just that little bit of freedom."

So the Daleks attacked his creations and they returned fire, destroying the two Daleks on the stage…some of his creations survived, and he tried to reassure these lost children, but then they were overcome with pain; the last remaining Dalek in existence still found a way to destroy! Thus the Doctor returned to the lab and spoke with Dalek Kahn, yet spoke to him about compassion, about helping him; yet the Dalek could not stand for such words, could not linger, was unwilling to confront the fact that his enemy wanted to aid him, and so he deserted as the Doctor grunted in frustration. Whatever redemption he might have gained, lost; this night had been a hopeless cause for him…yet then they came to him with poor Lazlo, unable to cope with his frail body, and the Doctor bowed his head as he listened to Tallulah's plaintive questions and Lazlo's pained explanation, but still saw the love in their eyes.

Then Tallulah had turned to him for help...and the Doctor stood.

"Oh Tallulah with three l's and an h... just you watch me. What do I need, oh I dunno, how about a great big genetic laboratory-oh, look I've got one. Lazlo, just you hold on! There's been too many deaths today, way too many people have died. Brand new creatures, wise old men, and age old enemies. And I'm telling you, I'm telling you right now, I am NOT having ONE more dead. You got that? NO ONE!"

* * *

"I don't know. Anywhere else in the universe I might worry about them, but New York…it's what this city's good at. 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses', and maybe the odd mutant Pig Slave or two…the Pig and the Showgirl.**  
**

* * *

**This has been Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks…a very interesting story in the 3****rd**** series; Now I'm roughly two weeks ahead of the Sci-Fi run of the series! Coming soon: The Lazarus Experiment. Please Read and Review!**


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